Page 27

I awoke in the same clothes I’d traveled in.

The fabric had dried and creased in odd places. My boots and socks had been removed. I stared, confused, at the cherry blossom walls, the concave ceiling, and the light seeping in from the window.

Kenton Hill.

I groaned, sat upright. To my surprise, I did not ache all over the way I’d expected I would. There was a muted throb from the bump at the back of my head, but otherwise, the only sensation came from my fingertips. They tingled.

I raised them to eye level, inspected them curiously, and then recalled the taste of metal on my tongue.

Idium.

My eyes widened. I smiled.

On the floorboards by the door, three plates of food sat waiting, untouched. The mashed potatoes had browned and a thick skin clotted the gravy. A bowl of oats was sweating. I wondered how long I’d slept.

There was a note by my feet, folded unevenly.

Miss Harrow,

The left pipe releases heated water. Don’t burn yourself.

It wasn’t signed.

I stared at the lettering for a long while, tracing the elongated tails of the P ’s and F ’s. I looked at the name, my name, with a sort of removal, as though I was spying on someone else’s mail.

The pipes were indeed different temperatures. I turned them on one at a time, watching the steam rise slowly from the first. I filled a large copper basin halfway and turned the valve until the flow of water subsided.

Then I laughed. Genius. I wondered how the water was heated, if it was by fire or gas or some other invention I hadn’t yet seen. How did it arrive at the turn of a lever?

I followed the paths of the pipes out the window and couldn’t find where they led.

But I resolved that I would.

First, though, I needed a bath.

I undressed and retrieved a cloth from the wardrobe, then doused it and sighed as I ran it over my body.

I was shocked to look down and find I wasn’t covered in bruises.

I ached, but apart from the mottling on my left wrist, my skin was mostly unblemished, only paler than I’d remembered, even against the blond of my hair.

Just beneath the surface, the idium hummed softly.

I’d lost some weight in hiding—gone were the days of the banquets. The swell of my hips and breasts had diminished some, and I sighed. I thought I looked much like a bird—flimsy bones, easily broken. I resolved to eat until Patrick’s hotel was in arrears.

I found clean clothes and shoes to dress in—a blended green skirt and a sallow-colored blouse with loose cuffs.

I buttoned the top to the hollow of my throat and lamented the way it billowed at the sides.

The leather shoes were old and cracked but fit well enough.

I combed through my curls as best I could, though there was often little point.

I resorted to pinning them back instead until they collected at the base of my neck.

Without oil, there was little else to be done.

Then I ate everything. The potatoes and leeks and onions and sausages.

I ate the cold porridge and scraped the sides with a spoon.

I drained the glass of water in one go and felt achingly, gratifyingly full.

I laid back on the faded rug and let my belly distend, then closed my eyes again, wondering if I ought to go back to sleep.

I was good at entertaining myself inside small spaces.

The past seven years had taught me to. Proficiency in hiding was proficiency in being alone, in being bored.

I opened my eyes now and looked for those same silly games I’d used to while away hours, days.

I could trace the wallpaper in the air, count the cracks in the building, name the exact hue of everything my eyes touched and think of how to replicate them in paint combinations.

How long would I be here for?

The sun spilled in through the window and highlighted the waltzing dust motes, but still the room was dark.

I turned to find a lantern, but though there was a sconce, no candle sat in its hold. Instead, there was a wire spring and a small brass opening. I eyed the cord that hung from its bottom, then gently pulled on it.

A flame appeared. Small, but real. It flickered to life with a small click, and I staggered back. Laughed. Magic.

I thought of the street below with its many winding and twisting oddities, parts welded together to create things I’d never seen. Then I stared at the wallpaper once more and considered counting its flowers.

But I was tired of hiding.

I went to the door and knocked on it, called out the name Patrick had used last night… or was it the night before?

Footsteps, and then the door cracked open. A scrawny, tan-skinned boy filled the space. “Miss?”

I smiled genially at him. “I’d like a walk about town,” I said. “If you’ll just step aside.”

The boy gaped at me. “But… Pat…” he looked behind him, as though Patrick might appear over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, miss. You gotta stay in there. Boss’s orders.” He straightened as he spoke, galvanized. “I ain’t lettin’ you pass.” He was steadfast, juvenility notwithstanding.

But I had an advantage now that I’d not been allowed these past seven years, and it surely counted for something. “Do you know me, Sam? Did Patrick give you my name?”

Sam jutted his chin, staring me down. “He tells me lots of things,” he said proudly. “He’s trustin’ me to keep you safe.”

I smiled. “He must see great potential in you.”

I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the eagerness. “He says you’re the earth Charmer,” Sam continued. “Says we gotta keep a close eye on you. Keep everyone else out. There’s a lot of people lookin’ for you, miss. Lots of people who’d pay to find you.”

I sighed. “He’s an honorable man, then?”

“He is,” Sam said with a smile, chest inflating.

“And what do you think he’d say if I brought the entire building down around us?”

Sam’s expression was wiped clean and replaced with fear. He took a reflexive step back but quickly regained himself. I heard his hand grip the doorknob. “You—you wouldn’t do that,” he stammered. “You’d only bury yourself with it.”

I shrugged slowly. “That’s quite a gamble, Sam,” I said. “I only wish to walk a short while. I’ll be back within the hour.”

Sam’s brow furrowed; his eyes darted to the stairwell.

I sighed impatiently. “You could accompany me. Ensure I came to no harm?”

He wavered; I saw it in the twist of his hands. “I can’t let you pass, miss. Patty will be furious.”

Sam warred with indecision; I could see this was about more than just money. When he spoke of Patrick, there was not only a deep tenor of admiration, but also fear.

Sam would do what he was told, and not for the pay. Had there ever been a greater motivator than approval?

I could think of only one.

I planted my feet more firmly and made a show of closing my eyes in concentration.

I could feel Sam watching me through the crack in the door as I raised my hands from my sides like some storybook sorceress.

I drew every grain of dust and dirt from the room until it swirled in a storm in front of me, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Sam watching it in horror, as though granules were more than just dust.

“S-stop!” he said. Then louder, more panicked. I made the dust storm spin faster. “Damn it! I said stop!”

“Are you going to walk with me, Sam?”

“Yes! Yes, all right! You don’t need to—”

“Perfect,” I said, and my hands dropped. The dirt rained down onto the floorboards. “Someone should sweep up in here.”